


kiss it better

by deadwine



Series: would it really kill you if we kissed? [3]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: A Raven Cycle AU, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Angst, Blue Lily Lily Blue Free- Freeform, Explicit Sexual Content, Hate Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, but not really, references to death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26938633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadwine/pseuds/deadwine
Summary: This Jeonghan is Jimin's personal nightmare and he hates him. He wants to push Jeonghan off the bike and ride away, without him. He wants to shove Jeonghan against a wall and kiss the smirk off his face.
Relationships: Park Jimin/Yoon Jeonghan
Series: would it really kill you if we kissed? [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719145
Kudos: 11





	kiss it better

**Author's Note:**

> this is it, the final part of the series. this is straying pretty far from the gansey/blue scene in that jeonghan is definitely not gansey here, but i'm up for any discussion on who he /is/ based on. please do read the series description if this is the first part of the series you're reading.  
> this is my first time writing both jimin and jeonghan for the main pairing so please bear with me!  
> happy birthday to my favourite libras <3

You take the things you love  
and tear them apart  
or you pin them down with your body and pretend they're yours.  
\- richard siken, a primer for the small weird loves

Park Jimin was not a flighty person.

He was the kind of person who stopped his bicycle to tell off bratty kids harassing ajhummas on the sidewalk, had been top of his class all through school, and if he wasn't born into a family of psychics he would have been the poster child for their small town on the edge of Byeonsan-myeon.

When Jimin was younger, Seokjin used to try to get him to skip class and accompany him on his sessions, at least with his regulars. But as far as Jimin was concerned, he would be damned before he turned out like his cousin. He'd never been on a date in all his twenty years and it had nothing to do with being cursed. (“ _Fated_ ,” his mother corrected him to no avail.) Prophecies and tarot readings would only mean something to him if he ever went in pursuit of a lover. Not necessarily _the one_ and yet someone, to have and to hold. He never did.

The problem, if there ever was one- and on this Seokjin _and_ Jungkook would agree- was that Jimin was a sensible person through and through, had always been and would remain so for the foreseeable future. So he was told and so he believed.

Yet here he stood, shivering on the cold street in the November night, wrapped in layers waiting for his ruin.

(Maybe there was an escape for him after all- from himself, if all he would ever amount to was his sword-sharp destiny.)

The Wolf Classic revved loud in the distance, piercing the tranquility of the darkness in his quiet corner of town. Jimin could hear it long before it had turned on to his street, headlight blinding him momentarily as it screeched to a halt in front of him, probably having woken the entire neighbourhood by then.

The rider lifted his helmet.

Yoon Jeonghan had looked good on an average day back when they were in school, from the impenetrable distance of their own friend groups- or in Jimin’s case, the lack thereof. But all grown up and hair falling to his shoulders, leather jacket snug across his waist and perched on his dad's old bike, this Jeonghan is Jimin's personal nightmare. He _hates_ him. He wants to push Jeonghan off the bike and ride away without him. He wants to shove Jeonghan against a wall and kiss the smirk off his face.

"Were you waiting for me, sweetheart?"

"I told you not to call me that." Jimin snaps.

Jeonghan smiles, slow and saccharine sweet. He pats the space behind him. "Aren't you getting on, _Jimin-ssi_?"

Jimin swings his legs over the bike and climbs on without a word. He got along with Jeonghan best when neither of them broke the silence.

Jeonghan fires up the bike’s engine in glee, a _statement_ ; painted across the roads of his childhood as his aunts and cousins lying in bed probably sighed at him while their neighbours peeped out of the window in open curiosity. Jimin was counting on them to lodge complaints with his mother.

They fly off.

Jeonghan races out of town in record speed, like whatever they were running from was hot on their heels. Jimin leans forward and wraps his arms around his waist.

"Where are we going?" he asks after a while, as the landscape around them thickens the deeper they head into the woods.

Jeonghan replies, "You'll see." Voice barely audible over the rush of the wind.

"Why do you have to be so damn mysterious all the time? Do you get off on it?"

"Don't you?"

Jimin flushes, privately thankful that they weren’t facing each other at the moment. He doesn't think about the suggestive lilt of Jeonghan's voice.

After a while, he just surrenders to the cold and revels in it; pin pricks break out across every exposed inch of his skin and travel underneath his layers. The bike twists and turns along the tricky mountain road as they go higher still.

Like this, Jimin can almost forget that he need only press his lips to lp Jeonghan's, just for a moment, to take the life he is destined to; _to live the life he is destined to._

_A kiss to kill a man._ If only it were a metaphor.

They stop near a clearing almost at the summit, before the road curves downhill towards the next valley. All of a sudden, Jimin is hit with how cold it actually is, once the blazing wind stops numbing him from it.

Jimin stumbles down from the bike unsteadily, the muteness of the woods and the tumult building inside his head catching up to him now that they're no longer in motion. Here, he can smell the smoke sticking to Jeonghan's jacket, the hint of blood he's not sure if he's imagining. He doesn't ask. _Not today._

Jeonghan looks at Jimin keen and contemplative as he strolls up to him. He pulls them both down onto the grass, a tangle of limbs purposefully angled away from each other.

A cotton cloud of exhale ascends into the winter sky. A question.

_"Would you let me kiss you, Jimin-ssi?"_ He asks -

Jimin freezes, voice lodged in his throat. He catches Jeonghan's gaze, an acutely dangerous thing as always, but in that moment, a speck softer- _vulnerable_ even.

Jimin’s breath lodges in his throat. He throws a leg over Jeonghan’s and climbs into his lap, in lieu of an answer. A hand against Jeonghan’s throat, he grinds down.

\- Yes.

To Jeonghan, Jimin is a quick fix: the nasty _irresistible_ smell emanating from the seats at the farthest corners of a movie theater; finding just enough money lying on the road to forego the guilt of pocketing it. The thrill of touching someone right in all the wrong ways without the mess of retribution, or worse, a _farewell_.

Or so Jimin thinks.

To Jimin, Jeonghan is an exercise in self-love and self-abuse. It's a metaphor, putting the killing thing- _Jimin_ \- between them and letting his impulses fight all rationality and hard-earned wisdom; to submit to what he desires most and yet keep it at an arm’s length.

Jimin hates metaphors.

It isn’t always an agonizing war between who he is meant to be and the price he pays for being in love. Sometimes, it’s the thrill of public indecency- being caught looking too closely at a trainwreck, precipitating the jump in, or the other, more _obvious_ , thing: rolling down the windows as he screamed in rhapsody at the hands gripping inside his jeans in a not-so-empty parking lot.

Sometimes it's _this_ : slowly tracing his tongue along the length of Jeonghan’s cock, three of his own fingers jammed inside Jeonghan’s mouth and the low simmering heat between their bodies turning frost to vapor.

The masked, borderline criminal Jeonghan is as easy to love as this rare pliant Jeonghan is difficult to hate.

Jimin bares his teeth ever so slightly over the tip of his cock and Jeonghan comes with an unrestrained moan, gushing into Jimin’s mouth and it’s so unbelievably hot- _sex with Jeonghan, always is_ \- he’s ripping his own zipper down and pulling himself off fast and hard, going cross-eyed at the effort of trying to lick the come dripping off his chin onto Jeonghan’s thigh at the same time.

It doesn’t take too long for Jimin to come, a litany of Yoon Jeonghan muttered against the edge of a bony hip. He rolls over until his back touches the ground and closes his eyes.

Quietly, painstakingly, he rebuilds the ramparts of his self-control. His love isn’t a trifle, and unfortunately neither is his orgasm.

They never talk much in the aftermath, despite Jeonghan’s persistence and his more recent turn towards almost-confessions whispered into the wind blowing between their bodies. Jimin pretends not to know what they say. Jeonghan pretends he doesn’t feel Jimin’s fingers tremble underneath his ribs, when he starts the bike up for their return.

Things are pretty clear-cut between them, two boxes that don’t collide except for the sticky slide of their bodies and yet Jimin lingers once they reach the gate of his house, casting a glance back at Jeonghan, soft and beautiful in the dark shadows of the street; the reins over his fire held tight in his hands and but unaware of all the tenderness he bares in these moments when he stares at Jimin, devoid of all expectation.

Jimin turns to leave, again, but is stopped by a shaky laugh.

"Did I dream you Jimin-ssi?" Jeonghan’s voice rings across the empty road.

Jimin doesn't try to hide his snort, letting mockery fill his face and heart, pushing away any semblance of desire, or admittance.

"I'm too good to be just one of your dreams, Yoon Jeonghan." He jeers, walking away before Jeonghan can respond.

He is long gone by the time a hushed “ _you are_ ” is breathed into the space where he stood, the bite of a voice on edge betraying the things left unsaid.

(To Jeonghan, Jimin is a sliver of sunlight. A band-aid with trimmed nails and straight-As, a version of himself that isn’t intoxicated on the dream of dreaming himself awake; a singular possibility that he hasn’t blown up in a car crash at the edge of the mountain, while the flying monster that keeps him company watches. Loving Jimin is like looking into a mirror in the fleeting moments when the body staring back at him isn’t a nightmare.)

**Author's Note:**

> title: rihanna's kiss it better  
> accompanying music: rihanna's stay and love on the brain 
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/deadseoull?s=08)  
> [my cc](https://curiouscat.me/deadwine)


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